


i'll trade you a memory

by ElenAndTara



Series: By Dawn [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Deleted Scenes, F/M, Friendship, Hogwarts Fifth Year, M/M, Missing Moments, Missing Scene, Nightmares, Other, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25355569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenAndTara/pseuds/ElenAndTara
Summary: Unseen scenes that are still part of a memory, and just as important.This’ll contain snippets that didn’t make it to the main story, deleted scenes, and other things that we couldn’t fit in. We hope you enjoy!
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Series: By Dawn [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836202
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	1. Ron Weasley and the Closet Skeletons

**Author's Note:**

> This scene happens somewhere between chapter eleven and chapter tweleve of My Safest Sound.

**Ron And The Closet Skeletons**

Ron waits for the right time to approach Harry, about eight in the evening that night after they've already had dinner and Hermione has gone off to her dorm to nap, something about a stomach cramp, Ron keeps in mind to bring her something from his secret chocolate frog stash tomorrow morning, that would improve her mood a lot.

Harry's flipping through their Transfiguration book once he gets there, his brows knitted into a distracted frown as he rapidly shifts the pages, his poised quill dripping ink into the blank parchment. 

Ron clears his throat. "Hey," he says, and Harry's hand stops and quill lowers, his eyes flicking up to meet Ron's. Perfectly blank but layered with so much depth. It hurts to look at him sometimes, Ron has realised. He always feels as if Harry is looking right into his soul.

"Hey," Harry says, and patiently waits for Ron to slump down on his own bed.

"You know that…" he trails off for a moment, looks around their empty dorm, "We didn't mean to trap you, or anything like that last night."

"Yeah, you said so this morning," Harry closes the book and the inkpot, placing them both on the bedside table before rolling up the parchment and turning back to him.

"I know,” Ron rubs the back of his neck, “It's just, you know how Hermione has this thing,"

"I do."

"Where she starts on a topic and just...Goes on. We've been sitting on this for a while, and she, well me too I guess, we were pretty worried, and kind of annoyed."

Harry shrugs, "It's cool, Ron,"

Ron shifts nervously, Harry’s face is still blank, "You know that she doesn't do it on purpose,"

"I do know that. Yeah."

"And you do know that,” Ron bites his lips for a second, “That I didn't mean to say those things last night either? You know I say a lot of shitty stuff when I'm angry."

"What is the point of this?" Harry asks, sounding as if he's genuinely curious. "You already did the apology dance this morning."

"It's not just about that."

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" Harry raises his hands from where they were playing with the hem of his pajamas, letting out a noise more exasperated than annoyed, and Ron is seriously not sure whether that is a good thing or not.

"Just because she had the wrong approach,” he says slowly. “It doesn't mean that the issue was solved."

"I'm fine, Ron. I'm _great._ We don't need to do this. Cedric's death was tragic and I dream about it sometimes, so what?” Harry is gesturing around wildly; it’s almost comical and Ron is having trouble following Harry’s hands, “You still have recurring nightmares about a tarantula eating your face! We all have issues." Ron refocuses back on Harry’s face.

"I'm sorry about the Dursleys," he blurts out.

Harry freezes, then blinks once. Before his hands drop like dead weight to the bed.

"I wanted to tell you," Harry says, resigned.

"But you never got around to actually doing it.” Ron isn’t surprised, not really. “I've heard the details from Professor McGonagal,"

Harry’s eyes narrow. "Why would she tell you?"

"Because you're having tomorrow off. No classes, no homework. She wanted to let you know, but couldn't find you, apparently." Not that it is difficult for Harry to disappear when he wants to, with his map and the cloak, it is actually surprising that he doesn’t do it more often. Ron isn’t about to jinx himself for thinking that.

"But I have O.W.Ls."

Ron almost rolls his eyes, trust Harry to look a gift horse in the mouth, "Your blood relatives just died, I know you hated them, so did I, but for your own sake, just take this without complaining. You do deserve a day off, without that hag Umbridge honing down on you."

"I didn't hate them,"

"You did,” Ron says, and then rummages around his trunk for a moment and thinks that perhaps he can spare two chocolate frogs and tosses one to harry, who catches it on instinct, “You still do. Come on, I know you better than that. It's alright, they were really bloody awful people. Eat that."

"I'm not going to their funeral. Aunt Marge might be there… and just, no. I don't want to deal with them anymore." Harry’s hands trace the edges of the packet, not opening it yet.

"Do you see how this is different from Cedric?" Ron takes one out for himself too. Eating chocolate just after dinner is probably a bad idea, but damn him if he’s having this conversation without it. 

Harry groans. "No.,” he says, vehemently shaking his head. “No, don't connect the two.” he looks into Ron’s eyes beseechingly. Ron realises that this is the last time they’re ever going to probe him about the Cedric incident.

“I'm _fine.”_ There’s a small curl of displeasure on Harry’s mouth. “And if I have to tell you this one more time, I swear to Merlin, Ron I'm gonna drop a spider in your underpants."

"Alright. Yeah, okay. I'll tell Hermione that too."

Harry’s lips quirk at that, maybe a little reluctantly, "You guys are insufferable,"

"So are you."

"Yeah. I really am." Harry looks down at the frog in his hands, picking at the edge and opening the packet.

Ron isn’t sure how to broach the other topic of conversation he was tiptoeing around. He knows that there are no qualms about his own feelings regarding the Muggles’ deaths, he hated those fat, hateful people. It had nothing to do with the fact that they were muggles, not in the slightest, it was just the way they treated his best friend like shit, and hurt him in a way that made Harry not trust anyone with his inner feelings or thoughts. He’s glad they cannot reinforce the damage they’ve caused anymore, Harry deserves a proper family. He already has Ron and Hermione but this is a bit different.

So while he wasn’t really beat up about the muggles as he was listening to McGonagall, he is concerned about how Harry’s going to take it. He hates them too, he must have on some level, but what Ron really cares about is whether that hate is gonna amount to Harry’s locked up pile of emotions that he never talked about or is it going to float over his head like Cedric’s ghost. He wonders whether their deaths are causing more harm than good, and then he wishes that he had maimed those bastards himself.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad the muggles are gone,” Harry looks up at him at that, mildly surprised, and Ron grins toothily back at him, “Personally speaking.” he shrugs, “That fat pig of a cousin always irked me."

He speaks after a moment, "You shouldn't be glad that they're dead."

But he’s smiling, he knows what Ron means, it remains unspoken, but they both know.

Ron raises his eyebrows, "Well, I guess you just have to keep my dirty secret,"

Harry finally decides to open the chocolate frog wrap. "Only if you stop nagging at me about Cedric."

"Fair enough.” he’s feeling a bit peckish now. This is why Ron should have eaten more at dinner. Emotional discussions wear him out. “ I'm gonna go to the kitchens. See you in an hour?"

"Sure. And Ron?"

"Hm?"

Harry smiles. "Thanks."


	2. Valentina Parkinson and the Matryoshka Dolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter happens somewhere between chapter 14 and chapter 15 of MSS.

**Valentina Parkinson and the Matryoshka Dolls**

_ Dear Mother  _

_ Something extremely odd happened this morning after I woke up. I headed down to the common room, per your instructions, to keep an eye out on my subject, but he never came down, his dorm mate also mentioned that he hadn’t come back to his dorm the previous night. I went to the Great Hall for breakfast and learned that Harry Potter was also missing, but Umbridge didn’t seem to be aware of their absence.  _

_ I came to write to you right away before sweeping the castle in search of the two, and will keep you updated on my conduct.  _

_ With love, your daughter _

The woman releases the parchment, watching it land back on the table. She runs a finger over the words, pressing down on the folds and idly gazing past the letter and at the lone candle burning above the desk, as if inviting her to incinerate the letter. As if burning the letter will burn away what it signifies. After a beat or two, she pushes her chair back with a small creak, sweeping the letter in one quick motion as she stands and strides out of the darkened office. 

Sharp clicks of her boots echo in the wide corridors, quick and resounding as the letter remains clenched in her left hand, the only outward sign of her displeasure, aside from the slight, almost unnoticeable curl of her mouth. 

She comes to a stop before the double doors, her hand curls around the ornate handle and she enters without knocking. She’s not pleased. 

“Has something of great importance interrupted your evening, my love?” her wife says without looking up from her parchment, her dark hair casting a veil over her face. “You don’t usually cut short your tea parties without a valid reason,”

Selene’s mouth curls further and she closes the door behind her, eliciting a sharp sound that causes Val to glance up from her parchment at last. “Yes?” she prompts, knowing full well that Selene wouldn’t be demanding her attention while she was working unless it could not be avoided. 

Selene pushes her skirt out of the way and takes the seat in front of the desk, the letter on her lap, her blue eyes piercing a subtle glare into Val’s. 

“I received a letter just now,” she says, softly, watching as Val’s eyes trail down to the letter in her hands. 

“Yes, I can see,” she says slowly. “Is someone dead?” Her eyes are just as steady and deadpan as hers. 

“It was Pansy.” Selene slides the letter across the desk, and then leans back in her seat again. “She was reporting,” she only lets the slightest hint of tension seep into her cool voice.

Valentina reaches for the letter, does a quick scan, her face remains impassive for the most part, but then stands abruptly. 

“Disappeared?” She mutters. “Oh, I need to write Lucius at once.”

“No, you do not,” Selene says, standing up too, it’s not a request. “Why is she reporting back to you and why was she spying on Lucius’ son?” 

“Not important, Love.” Val’s eyes flicker over her, and she looks ever so slightly harried now; Selene resists the urge to frown, “I can explain later, right now, I need to contact Lucius,”

“You will tell me  _ now,  _ Valentina.” 

Val takes a deep breath, and completely faces her, setting down the letter on her desk, “It was not my choice," she says after a moment of deliberation. "Our Lord commanded someone inside the school to keep tabs on the child. Nothing harmful, she obsesses over him anyway. I volunteered her for the job.”

Sel's frown deepens. “And you didn’t tell me.”

“I wasn’t aware you would be upset.” Selene has a feeling that Val had, indeed, been aware that Selene would be upset had she known about this. Utilizing their child was off-limits, they both knew this. 

“That’s exactly the reason why you hid it in the first place. We’ve had this talk before, Val. Pansy, our daughter, is  _ off-limits."  _ Val's mouth curls down. "What Lucius’ whelp does or doesn’t do is not our concern. If he wanted a spy he should have prompted Severus, his lapdog, to do the job for him.” Selene can see Val’s left thumbnail subtly raking light lines down her index finger, a gesture of tension it had taken even Selene years to notice. 

Val doesn’t back down, she rarely does when they argue, but Selene knows that Val is aware of the absurdity of her logicm which makes this exchange unnecessarily infuriating. 

“He has his reasons.” her wife says, “You know why he didn’t carelessly make a choice. Lucius’s situation is very fragile. He just lost a wife, you know,”

“That’s why you decided to offer up my daughter on a platter?”

Selene stares at Valentina, daring her to contradict her. 

“ _ Our _ daughter,” Val says after a beat, “Is perfectly capable of following a fifteen year old. It’s not as if she does much anyway. You’re fretting over nothing, Selene.”

“You and I are raising a child together,” she seethes in response. “Not training an assassin. I do not want Pansy to be involved in any of this, Val.” there’s a pause, and Val looks away from her. “You know my reasons,”

“And you know mine.” she snaps back. She turns to stare at Selene with narrowed eyes. “Things aren’t the same anymore, Selene,” she swallows. “We need to prepare her, show her how to adjust in a new world order. The one where she takes orders from a superior.”

Selene lifts her chin ever so little, “I don’t see any new world orders now.”

“Shh Love,” Val whispers, her eyes narrow further, “Dangerous words for a time like this," they stare into each other's eyes, a heavy silence overtakes the office. 

"There’s going to be a war,” Val says after a beat, “There’s going to be a clear winner and a clear loser. I’ve learned my lessons. I will not be like Lucius. We  _ will  _ remain in grace. Pansy has wanted this her whole life.”

“No.” Selene said vehemently, “She’s doing this because she thinks you approve of it. Don’t play games with me, Val, I know you see it too,”

“Parental love?” she says drily, raising one eyebrow in a way that suggested that she knows very well the words that she isn’t speaking. Selene speaks them anyway.

“Obsession. She’s obsessed with you, admires you, the only reason why she didn’t come running to me is because she sought your approval, and you played her on it.”

“I wouldn’t deceive my own daughter,” Val’s voice has gone flat and Selene makes her expression flatter, her voice colder with an effort of will even as her stomach clenches. 

“Yes,” Selene nods, “I agree that you shouldn’t.” Val glares at her but she continues. “This will be the last time she writes to you about the Malfoy boy, I don’t care how you’re going to placate the dark lord, but our child is not a plaything in his game. After this disappearance, I doubt there would be much to tell anyway,”

“You have theories?” she cocks her head to the side, before taking a step back and sitting down on the chair again. 

“I have eyes,” Selene says, leaning forward ever so slightly, “Narcissa’s child was bound to have her spirit as well. I doubt he’s off strolling the grounds. This will break Lucius’s heart.”

“Treacherous blood?” Val has propped an elbow on the table now, and is tapping her fingers against her chin, looking thoughtful. 

“How about a heart?”

“Hm,” she nods, once, “I shall write to him,”

“And our daughter.” Selene adds firmly, then stands “And Val? Be a dear and don’t let your disappointment show too much, it’s unseemly.” she straightens her skirt. “I shall write her a separate letter myself. I’d imagine she’ll be upset.”

Valentina’s mouth stretches into a grim smirk, “Of course, Selene.” she purrs, then deliberates before saying the next sentence, “You know the things I would do for you, don’t you?” her lips curve in a small smile. 

“I’m aware.”

Val hums, and then continues, “Never forget it then. Everything that I do is for you and Pansy. Nothing else, no ulterior motives. I won’t let this put a strain on us.”

Selene finally lets go of the tight reign she has on her expression and lets her face soften, “I love you too,”

Valentina’s lips widen into a grin and she stands, her eyes playfully running over her wife as she steps forward, grabs Selene’s face delicately with both hands, and cradles it before diving in for a firm kiss, and Selene returns it with the same ferocity, breathing in the sharp perfume and fresh parchment.

There were dark times ahead, she could already feel it.


	3. Hermione Against the Ceaseless Winter Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place somewhere during chapter twenty two of MSS.

**Hermione Against the Ceaseless Winter Sun**

She can't sleep. 

It keeps happening lately. She feels it under her skin, that pull of exhaustion, that heaviness behind her eyelids, the tardiness in her limbs. It's everywhere, like a plague. She's tired. Not just tired, but rather fatigued, and even that word can't do the exhaustion in her bones any justice. 

She's wearing her pajamas, she brushed her teeth twice--nervous tick stuck since childhood--warmed up her bed covers and crawled in. Waiting for her body to do the rest. It had to give in sometime. Logically she knows this, if she gets worn out enough she's going to sleep, whether she likes it or not. 

Her body seems to disagree.

She wrings her covers, and shifts her head to the left, sneaking glances at Parvati's snoring figure, hunched under her blanket. 

Every time she closes her eyes, Harry is there. 

She doesn't imagine him being tortured, even though she knows for a fact that he was, she doesn't imagine him bloodied and in pain. She imagines him smiling, by her side, not speaking, Harry rarely spoke in real life anyway.

She shifts her head again and stares at the maroon canopy of her bed, it all looks black in the dark. 

She misses his smell. 

There's nothing overly special about it, not even remotely in comparison with his messy hair and brilliant eyes, or the way his nose prunes when he's disturbed.

But she misses that. She misses her best friend. And that annoying picture of him, smiling at her like that is not helping matters. Not because Hermione doesn't like to see Harry smiling, but rather because it's been so long since she last did. 

Harry hadn't really smiled in years. Not really, and it used to break her heart. Him smiling now is somehow worse. 

She wonders what he would have said about her and Ron finally getting together. 

"I know," she breathes in total darkness and the delicate silence, Lavender groans, "Awful timing,"

Harry should have been the first to know. He might have even been there, but Hermione would have told him all about it anyway, dissected every second of the kiss, every move, every breath. And Harry would have listened, and made it all better. 

Then he would have had to hear Ron's side, probably. She expects that it would have been briefer than the account in her head. 

"We just kissed, mate. It was amazing," she whispers again, trying a poor imitation of her boyfriend's voice. She feels silly, doing this, but for some reason, exhaustion probably being one of them, she couldn't stop. It made her chest feel lighter. 

It all feels better like this, as if Harry is lying down next to her, staring at the canopy she's staring at, but somehow seeing something different. He always saw things that others just didn't. She misses that. 

He would ask if it was wet. The kiss. 

"I don't know," she muses, running her hand down her covers, "It was my first kiss you know. Kinda wet,"

Gross. 

Well, not really. She liked it. She actually loved it. Hermione has no idea how long she's been waiting for Ron to do that. She's glad he did. The world felt so much full of color with Ron. 

With Ron and her. 

Harry would be rolling his eyes now, saying something like ' took you two long enough,'

"Yeah, it did. Too long," 

Hermione closes her eyes, for full effect. Sure enough, Harry's face is there, not as gaunt or pale, and he's smiling. 

"You're such an idiotic genius. That's a thing you know," he says, except that she knows he's not really saying those words. She can't envision it, because she can't remember his voice. 

Some friend she is. 

Hermione can envision how it sounds, soft and rough and somewhat stubborn. But she can't picture the Harry in her mind speaking with that voice. 

"Oh shut up," she replies, smirking. She's missed the banter.

He's everywhere, even more present in her mind than he were when he was with her and Ron. Hermione feels like an ungrateful bitch. 

She keeps thinking of it, their last argument, the anxiety and worry surging in her veins, and Harry's pale face, exhausted and absent. She thinks of the things she said to him and her guts churn in shame and guilt. 

She should have said it differently, she should have… done something. Maybe the outcome would have been different then. 

"I miss you," she says and pretends as if that's what she really meant that night, when they ganged up on him. "I miss you so much," 

A tear slides down her face and onto her pillow. "I saw you were hurting and I… I felt so helpless. I barely saw you, and--" her throat felt too tight but she felt the need to continue. She needed to atone for her words, "And I wanted my best friend back."

Lavender groans again. 

"I thought Cedric took you away from us and if… if you just got it out of your system--oh Harry." 

She uses her fist to muffle the irresistible urge to let out the scream that's perched under her chin. "I love you, and I want you back," that's what she tries to say, but it all comes out muddled and slurred. 

This is unfair. It's like the universe had taken him from her just as she was getting closer to reaching him. 

Hermione bolts up, throws her covers aside and rushes out of the dorms, forgoing her slippers in favor of the freezing tiles under her toes. Her initial destination was the bathroom, but somehow she ends running down the stairs with bleary vision, to the common room. 

She wishes that she could have gone to the boy's dorms. To Ron. 

She pads to the darkened room, illuminated only by the dying hearth, and she half heartedly thinks whether she can break her way into Ron's dorm.

She doesn't need to, Hermione realizes as she gets closer to the fireplace. Ron is right there, sitting on the floor, his back leaned against the edge of the couch and his arms around his knees.

His freckles glow in the orange light and his face is slack with apathy. Hermione slides closer and he finally looks up at her, face still blank.

"Rough night?"

She sinks down next to him, stretches her legs and slumps against Ron's body. His pajama shirt is too thin for this chill. Next time she'll bring her blanket.

"I hate nights," she mumbles into his shoulder, and his head drops on hers, a gentle, comforting weight.

"Me too."

"Do you think he thinks about us the way we think about him?"

Ron takes his time answering, long enough that Hermione actually wonders whether he's fallen asleep. "I can't think about him for more than a second," he admits, and he sounds like it's such a sacrilegious confession. 

"Neither can I."

He shifts his head and Hermione can feel his lips, grazing the top of her head. "When we get him back, we're never letting go,"

"If?"

"When," Ron's tone is firm, "That's a promise."   
  



End file.
